Are You Sick of Reading About My Backyard Yet?

I am a bad hugger.

Someone told me that today. Then another someone told me to write a blog and start it with that line--the one about bad hugging.

Apparently, he agrees.

I am okay with that. Mostly.

In other news, I have completely messed up my sleeping schedule.

I am blaming my insomnia and new addiction to caffeine almost entirely on my Friday night ride along.

I think I promised myself one time that I would never ride along with the police. It sounded dangerous.

Then again, I also promised myself I would never drink Mountain Dew.

So here is a toast to broken promises. (As soon as I find my bottle of Mountain Dew I will drink to the promises of pre-college past.)

After 1 and a half bottles though, I am quitting caffeine. It just doesn't suit me to be awake and alert. And I think the extra sugar is going to send my heart into cardiac arrest.

As soon as I'm done driving to Phoenix at 1:00 a.m. this morning, I will toss the Mountain Dew and go back to my life of sobriety.

I am driving to Phoenix at 1 a.m. this Monday night because I am flying to Boston tomorrow. I have to leave my house at 4 a.m. And I need at least an hour to put my clothes in a suitcase.

Otherwise, I would leave at 2 a.m.

I usually prefer even numbers.

Other things that you have missed while I have been too busy pulling all-nighters to write on this sorry blog are (in no particular order): my obsession--no addiction--to season two of Grey's Anatomy, my ability to crash on the floor and fall into a sound sleep wearing jeans and typing on the keyboard of the computer in front of me, and my self-labeled Great Wax Incident of 2009.

It--the Great Wax Incident of 2009-- happened one Tuesday night when I was busily typing away a paper due the next day.

My roommate knocked on my door.

"Hey Alec," she said softly. "I spilt some wax on the counter, I'm going to Walgreens to buy remover."

By some miracle I was already more than half-way done with my paper and decided I deserved a break anyway, and said, "Oh I'm sure we can just scrape the wax off."

I went out to examine the damage and began picking the wax of the counter.

"What happened?" I asked.

She followed instructions, that's what happened.

Kelsey, my roommate, told me the story about warming the eyebrow wax that I had only days before recommended.

One minute. Test. Fifteen seconds. Test. Not soft. Fifteen more seconds.

To end the story she stretched out her arm. "It bubbled up all over my hand," she said.

Stretching down her wrist was a gooey burn that looked raw and painful.

"Wait, wait, wait," I said. "Your arm looks like that and your worried about going to Walgreens to buy wax remover?"

"Well," she replied. "I didn't want you to be mad."

Yeah, I'm that roommate. Apparently.

And a bad hugger.

Apparently. I need to work on my sympathy.